


it was cold but it got warm when you barely crossed my eye

by glueskin



Series: through the seasons [2]
Category: Hyouka & Kotenbu Series
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Holding Hands, Hot Springs & Onsen, Kissing, Literal Sleeping Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Series, Romantic Tension, gay staring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 01:28:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8183728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glueskin/pseuds/glueskin
Summary: following the start of the new year the classics club revisit the hot springs from summer of their first year; after a month of tension, houtarou and satoshi make their feelings clear.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [harukatenoh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/harukatenoh/gifts).



> shout out to my man jordan for sticking with me through this wild ride. i started this fic in january and worked on it sporadically until i finished it not even two hours ago. just take it. takes place january of their second year, so theyre on the cusp of their final year
> 
> title is from 'the gambler' by fun.

It had been Chitanda’s idea.  
  
Well, it started with Ibara; she mentioned how well her uncle’s onsen had been doing since the renovations and accompanying exorcism, which lead to reminiscing about their last trip there and Satoshi making fun of Houtarou for having fainted in the hot springs during the first night.  
  
Then Chitanda said they should go again.  
  
“It’s winter break,” she rationalized. “It would be a fun trip!” She insisted. And Ibara went with it, saying, “I can get us a good deal; it won’t be free again, but it’ll be cheap!”  
  
Satoshi, of course, agreed as well, and Houtarou was reluctant yet steamrolled and unable to protest, especially once Chitanda said she can pay for all of them. You would think everyone would have better things to do right after the new year, just like you would think the onsen would be booked, but unfortunately that hadn’t been the case.  
  
Which leads to the current situation: Satoshi and Chitanda having to force him onto the bus up the mountain, hauling him in by either of his arms.  
  
“I really don’t see why you hate busses so much,” Chitanda says with a tone implying great curiosity, which is rather dangerous coming from her.  
  
“It’s not just busses,” Satoshi answers for Houtarou as the boy in question groans and slides into one of the empty seats, ignoring the odd looks from the handful of other people who had already boarded the vehicle. “It’s cars and the like in general. He watched a documentary about cars and engineering in middle school and now he thinks he’s going to die every time he gets on one.”  
  
“One mistake,” Houtarou whispers from his seat, voice weak as Satoshi slips into place beside him, Ibara and Chitanda taking the parallel seat on the opposite aisle. “One mistake, and we’re all _dead_.”  
  
Satoshi pats his face consolingly. From the other seat, Ibara says, “I have never known a man so pathetic in my life,” as Chitanda erupts into giggles.  
  
With no more passengers boarding, the doors slide shut with a grating sound. Houtarou almost whimpers as the bus lurches in sync with his stomach.  
  
Satoshi’s hand drops from his face to the small space between them. Unseen by everyone else, he grabs Houtarou’s hand and doesn’t mention how cool and clammy it happens to be.  
  
If Houtarou grips his hand tight enough to cut off the circulation every time the bus goes over a hole in the road or makes a turn, well, Satoshi doesn’t say anything.  
  
It’s not as bad as it had been the last time they went, at least; it had been summer then, and the heat had added to Houtarou’s anxiety induced nausea whereas the cold just makes him so impatient and eager for the hour-long ride to finish that he very nearly forgets about the added danger of icy roads.  
  
Very nearly, anyway; Ibara mentions them just a little too loudly halfway up the mountain after a turn that seems to make the bus glide, and Houtarou almost breaks Satoshi’s fingers with how hard he tightens his grip, the warmth of the other boy’s hand being the only thing keeping him from a full out panic attack.  
  
So by the time they do make it up the mountain and to the inn, Houtarou has worked himself up into such a state that he almost throws up after staggering off the steps of the bus. _Almost_. The fact he’d neglected to eat breakfast is probably what saves him.  
  
“Pathetic,” Ibara repeats her assessment from earlier, not looking at either of them as Satoshi takes both his and Houtarou’s bags.  
  
“I think it was very brave of him to come with us despite his fears,” Chitanda says diplomatically. She’s smiling, though, her voice lilted in a way that suggests amusement, so Houtarou ignores them.  
  
Satoshi, ever the traitor, points out that during their graduation trip in third year they’ll likely be travelling by plane and Houtarou’s subsequent insistence that he simply won’t go and will be more than satisfied by a souvenir sparks disbelief and outrage from Chitanda and Ibara respectively.  
  
Satoshi suggests smuggling him onto the plane by force. When Chitanda actually looks considering of the idea, Houtarou pulls his bag out of his friend’s grip and walks ahead to the inn without a word.

* * *

  
During their stay the previous summer, the inn had been empty thanks to the renovations, but now—in the middle of winter—it’s as busy as it can get.  
  
Because of that, they aren’t greeted by the owners the way they had been last time, not that they can complain. Kaya and Rie are there, both taller than they had been the previous summer, Rie still ducking shyly behind her sister as soon as Houtarou so much as looks in her direction.  
  
“Am I really intimidating?” Houtarou asks Satoshi when they’re shown to their room. It’s different from the one they’d stayed in before, with a view going down the back slope to the onsen.  
  
Satoshi coughs like he’s trying not to laugh, dropping his bag by the closet and averting his gaze.  
  
“It’s your eyes, I think,” he says when Houtarou keeps waiting. “You look kind of dead, usually? The ride up here didn’t help with that.”  
  
“How flattering,” Houtarou drawls, mock-offended while Satoshi ducks his head with a grin.  
  
“Don’t worry, Houtarou,” he says, inching forward and sliding his fingers against Houtarou’s elbow. “I still think you’re attractive, even with your dead fish eyes.”  
  
It’s the sort of casual affection Satoshi has always offered to him in the guise of a joke, but now it sends a flush across Houtarou’s cheeks, a shiver down his spine—he drops his gaze towards the floor just as Satoshi smiles wide and draws his hand back to move around him toward the door.  
  
“I’m going to go see what time we eat,” he says as he leaves, sliding the door shut behind him. Houtarou steps back, pushing himself against the wall and staring toward the window on the other side of room as he tries to regain his bearings.  
  
It hasn’t even been a full month since Satoshi broke up with Ibara and they still haven’t talked about the fact Satoshi had kissed him, that Houtarou hadn’t just let him but had kissed back, that he’d all but outright admitted to knowing about Satoshi’s feelings for him and _waiting_ for him…  
  
And Houtarou doesn’t know how or even when to bring it up. How soon is too soon? How late is too late? He’s waited for Satoshi this long, but does Satoshi feel the same, or did the situation with Ibara drive him into a corner?  
  
Thinking about it is giving him a headache. Actually, the past month has been a constant headache, which isn’t exactly anything new but it’s still annoying.  
  
He groans to himself, thunking the back of his head against the wall.  
  
_This is supposed to be a vacation_ , he thinks to himself. _Relax. Just let things happen._ That’s fine. That’s what he usually does; he lets things happen and just goes with the flow.  
  
But for once, he doesn’t want to just let things happen. That’s what he’d done for two years after realizing how Satoshi felt—how he _himself_ felt—and knowing Satoshi, it could take _another_ two years for him to come out and say something even now that he’s aware of Houtarou’s feelings.  
  
“Um, Oreki?” Houtarou almost jumps out of his skin, jerking out of his slumped position against the wall at the sound of Chitanda’s soft voice coming from the hallway.  
  
“Uh, come on in,” he says awkwardly, straightening his posture as the door slides open. Chitanda slides her gaze across the room to where he’s standing by the wall, and when she sees him, she smiles.  
  
“Hi,” she says, as if they hadn’t seen each other just a few minutes ago. “It turns out we were just in time for dinner—we’re being served in about ten minutes, so Ibara and Fukube are waiting in the dining hall…” she trails off, staring hard at him.  
  
Houtarou fights the urge to instinctively back up, meeting her gaze with as much courage as he can muster.  
  
“Already? Well, I don’t feel sick this time, so I should be able to eat,” he says, and she keeps staring at him.  
  
Under the intensity of Chitanda’s gaze, he can feel himself beginning to sweat anxiously. Had she noticed some weird sort of mystery in the fifteen minutes they’d been apart? This is a vacation, he doesn’t want to solve another problem—  
  
“I haven’t said anything because I didn’t know if it was my place,” Chitanda suddenly says, startling him again. “But are you going to say anything to Ibara while we’re here?”  
  
Ah.  
  
He swallows, almost choking on his guilt. Of course Chitanda had noticed. It’s not that he and Ibara haven’t spoken at all, but there’s an awkwardness there that had never been present before. They had always understood each other. But now Houtarou is probably dating her first love, and while he isn’t sorry for that, he is sorry for how it might make her feel.  
  
But what’s he supposed to say? He knows Ibara had loved—might still love—Satoshi as much as he does, and unlike him, she had been proactive in her feelings. He had simply waited. And yet Satoshi’s feelings for him had never changed the way Ibara had hoped.  
  
“I don’t know,” he finally answers honestly, averting his gaze from Chitanda’s piercing stare. “I’d like to, but I’m still not sure what to say to her. Or…how to say it, I guess. But I’ll talk to her soon.”  
  
Chitanda looks satisfied by his answer, which is a little surprising. He thought she might try and get him to do something immediately, and it’s times like this where he’s starkly reminded of the expectations she carries on her shoulders. She’s so much more mature than she usually acts.  
  
“That’s good then,” she says, a smile curving her mouth. “I just wanted to make sure. Shall we go, Oreki?”  
  
Right, he remembers; dinner. He had almost forgotten.  
  
“Of course,” he answers, straightening himself and pushing away from the wall. The walk down to the first floor dining area is a short one, and when they arrive, Houtarou is glad to see Ibara and Satoshi speaking quietly to each other with smiles on their faces.  
  
Ibara’s smile lessens only slightly at the sight of Houtarou, while Satoshi’s seems to brighten further as he waves at him and Chitanda.  
  
“Took you guys long enough,” Ibara huffs when they’re close, but there’s little bite in her voice as Chitanda takes her seat at Ibara’s side.  
  
Houtarou grimaces as he folds his legs under him to sit by Satoshi—he hates sitting seiza, his legs weak and prone to aching after five minutes, but he’d also feel weird if he were the only one crossing his legs.  
  
“We were just talking about the antique store in town. We should go during the day tomorrow—apparently there’s this really nice bakery, too!” Satoshi gushes.  
  
“Sounds like a good time,” Houtarou says, and he means it. It’s been a while since all four of them have gone anywhere together, so this trip might have been a good idea after all. Not that he’s going to admit that, what with his anxiety from the trip up the mountain still lingering. “Will we be leaving in the morning?”  
  
“Probably around lunch,” Ibara answers him, though her gaze slides past his to look elsewhere when he turns to her. “There’s not a lot to do here when there’s no festivals—we can get all our browsing and shopping done in a few hours, easily.”  
  
“Oh, that’s good. It’ll be nice to sleep in.”  
  
“You always sleep in anyway,” Satoshi says with a roll of his eyes, knocking their elbows together. “You didn’t even wake up today until fifteen minutes before we caught the bus. If your sister hadn’t let me in to wake you—”  
  
“I just didn’t want to get on the bus.”  
  
“I’m seriously starting to worry about next year’s class trip.”  
  
Houtarou is about to reply, but Chitanda’s giggling distracts him from the bright of Satoshi’s eyes. She’s smiling at them both, and at her side, Ibara is rolling her eyes with a reluctant looking grin of her own. He flushes warmly, feeling chastised even though neither of the girls have said anything—he had, for a moment, forgotten they were even there.  
  
From the way Satoshi purposefully pulls his arm a few centimeters back so that it’s no longer flush against Houtarou’s, he had as well.  
  
Luckily, Houtarou is saved from further embarrassment by the arrival of one of Ibara’s cousins, carrying a tray as large as her own body in her spindly arms. He almost panics, but she _has_ grown up doing this sort of thing, and manages to serve them with a surprisingly professional air considering her young age.  
  
The food is good—better than he remembers from the year before, though the last trip is sort of a sickly, exhausted haze—and Ibara starts up a guessing game that has Houtarou trying to figure out the professions and backstories of a foreign couple eating across the room from them.  
  
It feels good and fun, like the antics they get up to at school cracking the mysteries Chitanda finds; Satoshi corrects some of Houtarou’s observations with some of his own and that feels good, too, the awareness that Satoshi isn’t so self conscious of his own abilities in comparison to Houtarou’s these days.  
  
By the end of dinner, even Ibara is smiling and laughing more than she has in months.  
  
It’s the best meal any of them have had in a long time.

* * *

  
“Houtarou, the water drain isn’t that interesting,” Satoshi is saying, and Houtarou is forced to blink stray water off his lashes and make eye contact.  
  
Luckily, Satoshi doesn’t look terribly put out by the fact Houtarou had somewhat intentionally ignored him—instead, he seems a bit amused.  
  
“Sorry,” Houtarou says, sliding his gaze somewhere over Satoshi’s shoulder before he can stare too long. “What’s up?”  
  
“I finished rinsing my hair,” Satoshi says, and Houtarou knows, because he had looked away and down at the drain before dumping a bucket of lukewarm water over his own soapy hair in order to distract himself from staring. “So are you going to let me wash your back, or are you going to try and do it yourself again and pull a muscle?”  
  
_Absolutely not_ , he wants to say, but what comes out is “That was _one time_.”  
  
Satoshi just laughs at him, already reaching over to grab Houtarou’s soap out of his bin. Houtarou very deliberately doesn’t allow his gaze to track Satoshi’s arm.  
  
“Turn around, then, I won’t take long,” Satoshi says, and Houtarou grumbles but obediently shifts around on his stool so that his back is facing the other boy.  
  
This entire outing has been far more difficult than Houtarou had anticipated. It’s not like he and Satoshi haven’t gone through this routine of helping each other wash before entering the baths before—they had done it last year, too, and plenty of times at one another’s houses or at public baths, but their relationship is on the cusp of shifting into something that isn’t so platonic.  
  
Houtarou tries very hard to think about less than pleasant things, like the gross horror stories Chitanda likes to show him, but as soon as Satoshi starts dragging the bar of soap across his skin his thoughts cut off.  
  
Something like this, Houtarou thinks, shouldn’t affect him so badly. But he’s hyperaware of all of Satoshi’s movements in a way he hadn’t been before, and whenever his knuckles brush across his skin along with the soap, Houtarou finds himself hunching his shoulders and struggling to breathe evenly.  
  
“So what were you and Chitanda talking about earlier?”  
  
He chokes on an inhale.  
  
“What?” Houtarou coughs, craning his neck and squinting through damp lashes. Satoshi pats his shoulder to make him look forward again, smiling almost indulgently.  
  
“I was just wondering, since you two took your time coming to dinner. I asked, but I’m guessing it was about Mayaka, right?”  
  
“Oh,” Houtarou sighs, shoulders sagging. He has no idea what he thought Satoshi might have been implying, but he’s glad to be wrong. Behind him, Satoshi sounds like he’s trying not to laugh.  
  
“Yeah. She just wondered if I was going to talk to her soon, and I will. I just need to figure out what to say.”  
  
“Don’t think about it too much,” Satoshi advises, drawing his hand away from Houtarou’s back. “You’ll probably know what to say once you’re alone with her.”  
  
Houtarou wants to reply, but refrains. He knows Satoshi is probably right and he’s stressing for nothing, so he goes quiet, not wanting to further pursue the topic of Ibara with Satoshi quite yet. Not until Houtarou actually talks to her—it’s unfair to discuss it with Satoshi, and besides, they haven’t even talked about _each other_ yet.  
  
He’s startled out of his thoughts yet again, this time by Satoshi dumping water over his back to rinse the soap away.  
  
Houtarou will deny the yelp that slips out of him until the day he dies.  
  
“ _Jesus_ , Satoshi, warn a guy!” He sputters, lifting his bangs out of his face and blinking water out of his eyes.  
  
“Maybe someday,” Satoshi grins, handing him the small bin he’d used and sitting down at his stool expectantly.  
  
Houtarou’s mind briefly fizzles out.  
  
Right. It’s his turn to wash Satoshi’s back. He stares, wide eyed as Satoshi adjusts so that his back is facing him. And he keeps staring.  
  
“ _Houtarou_ ,” Satoshi whines, slouching and craning his neck to stare at him impatiently.  
  
“Okay, okay,” Houtarou says, pushing himself into standing position. Satoshi hands him a bar of soap over his shoulder.  
  
Houtarou’s done this dozens of times before. He breathes deep and doesn’t let himself think about about the curve of Satoshi’s spine or the pale smear of a birthmark at the back of his neck.  
  
Satoshi, he thinks frustratingly, is unfairly calm and relaxed about all of this. Even while Houtarou is washing back, he hums as if completely unbothered, a jaunty tune Houtarou hates himself for recognizing from tv.  
  
“Alright,” Houtarou says a bit too loudly as he draws his hands away, “I think you’re good.”  
  
Satoshi responds by taking his bin—and _when_ had he turned on the tap to fill it with water? Houtarou had been too busy not thinking to notice—and dumping the water over his back.  
  
“Finally! Hot springs, hot springs,” Satoshi chants excitedly as he gets up. Houtarou rolls his eyes at his eagerness for something they’ve already experienced, but can’t help the smile that tugs at his mouth as he hands the other boy his soap.  
  
The hot springs aren’t as full as Houtarou had feared. There’s a handful of other people there, true, but not nearly as many as he’d braced himself for and he feels some of his tension easing away even before he’s in the water.  
  
Satoshi rushes in first, Houtarou looking very pointedly in the direction of two older men, one of whom looks asleep in the water, which Houtarou finds relatable.  
  
Once Satoshi’s removed his towel and gone in the water, Houtarou has no reason to just stand there getting cold, so he follows suit once he sees Satoshi facing the other direction. It’s pointless, he knows, but. Still.  
  
The water practically pulls him in. It’s hot, hotter than it had been in summer—or maybe it just feels that way because of the cold winter air. Either way, Houtarou heaves a sigh, feeling like jello as he submerges himself to the shoulders.  
  
He doesn’t even realize he’s closed his eyes until Satoshi’s voice hits him again.  
  
“It’s nice, right? Hot springs in winter are the best!” He’s saying as he appears at Houtarou’s side again, and he blinks slowly, already too lethargic with the heat to keep up with Satoshi’s energy.  
  
But he’s right.  
  
“It’s really nice,” Houtarou agrees, sinking a bit deeper into the water. “I’m glad we came.”  
  
Satoshi gives another blinding smile at that and Houtarou wants to bring his head under the water, too, at the feeling it gives him.  
  
Satoshi drifts off again soon enough. Hot springs are for relaxing, but he paddles around like it’s a pool and somehow ends up making conversation with the two older men from earlier along with another who had been half asleep when Satoshi went past him.  
  
Houtarou watches him. He likes to watch people for lack of anything better to do and does so often, but he genuinely enjoys watching Satoshi; he’s always been social and Houtarou likes to catalogue the expressions he makes during conversation. A smile. A grin. Another smile, with teeth. One that crinkles his eyes. A crooked pull of his mouth accompanied by a sly droop of his eyelids.  
  
He wonders what Satoshi’s talking about to get those expressions. He doesn’t bother pursuing that line of thought, knowing Satoshi will tell him later, so instead Houtarou curls his toes under the water and watches the way the moonlight filters through the steam above the water.  
  
He’s not sure how long he watches, but then Satoshi turns back in his direction. Even a good twenty feet away, Houtarou can see the bright of his eyes as he smiles wide. He looks ethereal through the mist, smiling and filling Houtarou’s body with a warmth unrelated to the heat of the water as he pushes himself in Houtarou’s direction.  
  
By the time he’s a few feet away Houtarou has caught his breath again.  
  
“Houtarou, feeling faint yet?” Satoshi asks when he’s close enough, tone light.  
  
_Yes_ , Houtarou doesn’t say, because it’s not from the water.  
  
“I’m fine. What did you talk about?” He asks instead, and Satoshi splashes the water as he lifts a hand to gesture in the direction of the oldest of the men he’d talked to.  
  
“He runs the bakery with his wife! He said if we go tomorrow he’ll give us some tiramisu cake at half price. Those other guys, they’re here on vacation, like us. One of them works in a law firm and the other—”  
  
Houtarou stares as he listens. He’s paying attention to what Satoshi is saying, but mostly he’s watching the way he moves his hands as he speaks, silver light glinting off his damp skin and catching against his eyes.  
  
_I really like him_ , Houtarou thinks. He doesn’t usually feel things so strongly and definitively; he tends to smother his emotions, but he likes Satoshi; the Satoshi who is a sore loser, who talks with his hands, who kept pulling Houtarou along in spite of his resistance and the way he had dragged his feet. Satoshi who spent so long loving him and pretending it was something else, Satoshi who tried so hard to love Ibara instead, Satoshi who he waited for.  
  
_I really_ —  
  
“Houtarou?” Satoshi’s saying, and Houtarou’s embarrassed flush is thankfully hidden by the fact he’s already pink-faced from the heat.  
  
“Satoshi,” is all he can say back, lead-tongued. He feels dizzy. A month ago, Satoshi had looked transient and out of reach under the light of the moon, just like tonight. Now he looks—still beautiful in a way that feels other worldly, but closer, and Houtarou doesn’t feel as if he’ll dissipate under his fingers if he reaches out for him.  
  
_Say it. Now’s the time to say it. It’s been a month. Now’s the time._  
  
“Are you—”  
  
“The moon,” Houtarou blurts out. Satoshi looks taken aback. “It’s—it’s beautiful.”  
  
Satoshi stares at him, wide eyed, mouth parted in surprise. Houtarou feels mortified and nauseous; never in his life has he felt so embarrassed, and when Satoshi laughs, he wants to drown himself.  
  
“It is,” Satoshi agrees through his laughter, reaching out to grab Houtarou’s arm. His fingers are wet and hot against his skin and he feels burned. “You’re right, Houtarou. It’s beautiful.”  
  
Satoshi keeps speaking, but Houtarou can’t hear him over the ringing in his ears and the heat in his bones and—

* * *

  
—and it’s cold.  
  
Houtarou wakes slowly, his wrists and neck uncomfortably chilly but his chest warm. There’s a scraping noise, like wood on stone, and after a moment he realizes he’s swaying a little.  
  
He doesn’t open his eyes. He just groans pathetically against Satoshi’s shoulder and gets a laugh in return.  
  
“Tell me I didn’t,” Houtarou begs, his voice a pitiful rasp. “Not again.”  
  
“You didn’t pass out in the hot spring after quoting Natsume Soseki at me,” Satoshi lies cheerfully, adjusting his grip on Houtarou’s thighs. He’s wearing the yukata he had borrowed from the inn, which means again, Satoshi had hauled him out of the water and changed him.  
  
“Leave me to die. There’s a pile of snow over there, just drop me in it so I can freeze to death,” Houtarou says, only sort of joking. He very much wants to die in that moment, but freezing to death sounds like it would take too long and hurt too much.  
  
Satoshi just laughs again, breath fogging in the cold air. He doesn’t say anything else, though, and neither does Houtarou; Satoshi’s wooden sandals scraping against the stone as he carries Houtarou up the path to the inn is the only sounds between them for over a minute.  
  
Houtarou tightens his arms loose hold around Satoshi’s neck. He still feels that nausea from in the hot springs, but it’s not as bad now that the initial panic and embarrassment have died down. He can fuzzily recall Satoshi laughing, reaching out to him, saying _You’re right, Houtarou. It’s beautiful_.  
  
His face heats up again and he’s glad Satoshi can’t see his face right now.  
  
More importantly, though.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles into Satoshi’s shoulder.  
  
“Huh? What for?” Satoshi sounds genuinely confused.  
  
“For making you wait so long. And for passing out,” Houtarou adds the second bit a tad grudgingly. He would rather pretend he hadn’t fainted a second time.  
  
Satoshi is quiet for a moment.  
  
“I think it’s good,” he says. Houtarou can hear the muffled sound of voices now, meaning they must be close to the inn. “That you didn’t say it sooner, I mean. Mayaka and I both needed time to…well, you know. It would have been too soon. But I made you wait even longer, so I guess we’re even.”  
  
“I didn’t mind waiting,” Houtarou admits. He says it only because Satoshi can’t see the red on his cheeks, but he means it.  
  
They’re close enough to the inn now that Houtarou lifts his head and squints, the bright lanterns hung in the building’s entryway already illuminating them.  
  
“I can walk, I think,” he says before Satoshi can say something else and they both continue to be embarrassing.  
  
“You sure?” Satoshi asks, but he’s already loosening his grip on Houtarou’s thighs and crouching so that he can get off his back.  
  
Houtarou’s not actually sure, but he doesn’t want to be carried inside and have Chitanda, Ibara and everyone else know that he fainted in the baths. Ibara especially would never let him live it down.  
  
Luckily, he seems to have regained enough strength in his legs to walk. He needs to stretch a bit, bones popping but his muscles far more relaxed than usual, and though his legs feel a bit like jelly Houtarou is able to walk without leaning on Satoshi’s shoulder.  
  
Ibara and Chitanda aren’t in the lounge area or the meal hall when they go in, thankfully—Houtarou is sure that Satoshi is going to tell them about him fainting at the earliest opportunity—so Satoshi tells Houtarou to go back to their room while he gets Houtarou some ice water, which he _could_ do himself, but he also really wants to lay down.  
  
So he lets Satoshi go off on his own while he climbs the steps up to their room. Houtarou is careful to hold onto the railing with his legs still being weak as they are, but he makes it up the stairs with no problem and, upon entering his and Satoshi’s room, collapses gratefully on one of the rolled-out futons.  
  
It’s hard not to fall asleep right there. But Houtarou knows he needs to drink something after passing out like that and more than that, he wants to spend more time with Satoshi. So he stays awake by turning onto his back and counting the imperfections in the ceiling until the door to their room slides back open.  
  
“Oh good, you’re not asleep,” Satoshi says cheerfully as Houtarou sits up. He slides the door shut behind him, moving to push their futons together before he hands him the bottle of water he’d gotten.  
  
It’s colder than Houtarou expects, a chilly shock against his warm hand—but as he uncaps the bottle he realizes exactly how thirsty he is, barely remembering to thank Satoshi before bringing the bottle to his mouth.  
  
It takes effort not to drink the entire bottle right there. Houtarou has to force himself to stop after several continuous mouthfuls, but when he checks, he drank over a quarter of the bottle in one go.  
  
“Feel better?” Satoshi asks when he does, and Houtarou realizes he _does_ feel better. He hadn’t realized how light headed he’d been or how sore his throat had felt until then.  
  
“I do, actually,” he says, hesitating before he lifts the bottle again. “Thanks, Satoshi.”  
  
Satoshi doesn’t say anything else, just waits while Houtarou—slowly this time—drinks more of his water. This time he caps the bottle when he finishes, more than half of it empty. More than enough, he thinks; his head feels clearer than it has all evening.  
  
“In the hot springs,” Houtarou starts saying as he turns the bottle in his hands. “After I—when I said I like you. Were you going to kiss me?”  
  
“I was,” Satoshi answers without hesitation or embarrassment. He doesn’t even turn the slightest bit red. “I got a bit carried away. I guess I was so excited you finally said it, even if you had to quote Natsume to do it, that I forgot where we were.”  
  
“ _Please forget about Natsume_ ,” Houtarou says quickly, the back of his neck feeling hot just remembering. “I wanted—I mean, I want to—can I kiss you?”  
  
Satoshi had kissed him a month ago and Houtarou had let him. Now Houtarou wants to be the one to give him something, after all Satoshi’s given him.  
  
Satoshi stares at him, bewildered. Then he laughs again.  
  
“You don’t need to _ask_ ,” he says, and he reaches out again just as he’d done in the bath, fingers catching against Houtarou’s shoulder. “I’ve wanted you to for so long.”  
  
“ _I’ve_ wanted to for so long,” Houtarou says back, chest aching pleasantly as he leans in. It’s easier than he’d thought it would be to press his mouth to Satoshi’s, his lips pliant and warm under his. He tastes sweet, like the tea they’d had with dinner and nothing like the bitter tears from the month previous.  
  
“Again,” Satoshi whispers when he draws back, already using his grip on Houtarou’s shoulder to pull him forward again. Houtarou doesn’t protest, his whole body warm with a want that’s been simmering under his skin for weeks.  
  
Houtarou thinks he should feel more anxious. He doesn’t; when Satoshi licks his way into his mouth hotly, he finds himself trembling but not nervous, his hands fitting against Satoshi’s hips. It feels as if everything is finally settling in place, like this is what they’ve been meant to do all along.  
  
He shifts his hands, sliding his left from Satoshi’s hip to move up his side. The noise Satoshi makes—a low whimper that gets caught between their mouths—makes the heat in Houtarou’s body flood to his stomach.  
  
He pulls back, a little wide eyed, and Satoshi is as red-faced as Houtarou must be, lips shiny.  
  
_Oh, God,_ Houtarou thinks, heart lurching. He wants to keep kissing Satoshi forever; it would be a good way to spend an eternity. Satoshi smiles at him, a giddy curve of his mouth, and Houtarou can't help but smile back, helpless.  
  
"We should get ready for bed," Satoshi says, still sounding breathless. He still hasn't let go of Houtarou.  
  
"We should," Houtarou agrees. He doesn't let go, either, and Satoshi laughs, pressing his flushed face to Houtarou's shoulder. Houtarou smiles again—rather, he hasn't  _stopped_ smiling. He hasn't smiled so much in a single day in a long time.  
  
Slowly, as though it pains him to do so, Satoshi does let go of him and Houtarou follows suit. He moves away, back onto his own futon to reach for his bag of toiletries. Houtarou watches him, still grinning, heart warm. Satoshi rolls his eyes when he looks back to see him. Houtarou's not sorry.  
  
"I'll go on ahead," Satoshi says, "Since you're so slow." He stands up like it's easy, but Houtarou doesn't even try until Satoshi is out of sight. His legs feel weaker than they had when he'd fainted earlier, and he drinks what's left of his bottled water.  
  
Reluctantly, he gets his toothbrush and paste out of his bag and manages to stand without falling over before heading towards the tiny bathroom. Satoshi moves to make room, a hum of acknowledgement in his throat as he brushes his teeth. Houtarou follows suit tiredly.  
  
It’s just tooth-brushing, but doing this next to Satoshi makes Houtarou happy. It’s nothing new, but the domesticity of the action is just—nice. And when Satoshi finishes up first, using one of the disposable paper cups to rinse out his mouth and putting his toothbrush in the holder, he kisses Houtarou on the cheek as he leaves.  
  
That’s more than just nice.  
  
Houtarou follows not long after, spitting into the sink and using another cup to rinse out his mouth. He almost forgets to rinse his toothbrush too, but does so, then leaves it in the holder next to Satoshi’s.  
  
When he leaves the bathroom, Satoshi is already—of course—in Houtarou’s futon instead of his own. Usually Houtarou would at least pretend to complain, but after all that kissing, there's no point.  
  
Besides. It's not like he doesn't  _want_ to share with Satoshi.  
  
“Houtar—ou,” Satoshi whines from their futon. “Hit the light and come cuddle me.”  
  
“Yes, yes,” Houtarou says, heading to turn off the switch by the door. The room darkens, the open windows the only source of light. He walks towards their futon slowly, careful so as not to trip over either of their bags, and crawls in beside Satoshi, who immediately latches onto him.  
  
Satoshi has always been a sleepy cuddler, which Houtarou has never minded, but he definitely seems clingier tonight. Houtarou pats his shoulder and slides his arm over Satoshi’s hip.  
  
“Hey, Satoshi?” He asks quietly. Satoshi hums a bit, opening one of his closed eyes. “I wanted to say it right, you know. That I—love you.”  
  
He fumbles only a bit on the word, cheeks warm, and both of Satoshi’s eyes go a bit wide, his loose grip around Houtarou going tight.  
  
Satoshi’s cheeks go red, too, and he turns his face into the pillow for a moment before turning back to Houtarou with a smile.  
  
“I love you, too,” he says, just as quietly. “But you knew that.”  
  
“No, I didn’t. I just hoped,” Houtarou corrects, and Satoshi blinks, eyes suspiciously damp before he leans in and kisses Houtarou. It’s soft and chaste, a kiss that makes Houtarou’s toes curl.  
  
“I do,” Satoshi says after, hiding his face against Houtarou’s neck as if flustered. “I love you.”  
  
Houtarou curls his fingers into a loose grip at Satoshi’s hip, pressing his mouth against Satoshi’s hair briefly. He remembers when they had slept like this a month ago, how he’d only dared to hope things might come this far, and smiles.  
  
Houtarou’s never believed in anything fanciful like true love or soulmates. But he loves Satoshi, and Satoshi loves him back despite how long they’ve made each other wait. That’s enough.  
  
_Tomorrow_ , he thinks to himself as he closes his eyes for sleep, _tomorrow I’ll make things right with Ibara, and then I’ll buy Satoshi one of those tiramisu cakes from the bakery_.  
  
He’s already looking forward to it.

**Author's Note:**

> if you enjoyed reading this, please consider [supporting me on kofi!](http://ko-fi.com/glueskin)


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